Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
II. To the MoonHugh Peters (18071831)
H
“Pale, silent orb,” “mild Luna,” new or full,
Crescent or gibbous! if thought not too dull,
List to the prayer of a poor rhyming wight!
Behold thy servant in a piteous plight!
My soul is sad, my coat is growing old;
My heart is heavy, and my heels are cold;
Both in and out I am a sorry sight;
Ideas and ink are gone,—I cannot write,—
And when I could, they said I was a loon
For offering incense at thy shrine, O Moon!
They call me mad, and that unmans me quite:
Regina, hear me! if I ’m not a dunce,
Moonstrike my brain, and make me so at once!